


Missing What I Should Be Kissing

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: British Comedy RPF, Have I Got News For You RPF
Genre: Cat and Mouse, Desire, Eye Contact, Flirting, Longing, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 20:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: A fic based upon the cat and mouse game that Angus and Paul played throughout their time on HIGNFY - the total disliking for one another that they had, but also the strange desire. During the show, Paul makes an offer that Angus can't refuse... But sadly, he knows that he HAS to. Thinking it over in his head, the impossibility of it all, the risk of scandal, the chance of being caught out - he drives himself mad with his thoughts.Written a very long time ago whilst watching HIGNFY repeats on the UK Documentary channel (this was even before they launched the Dave channel - my god) and whilst under the influence of four glasses of red wine, with a pen and notepad in my hand.





	Missing What I Should Be Kissing

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2006 to Livejournal.
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

Laying his hands flat to the table, Paul looked up at the host, a wicked glint in his eye. "If I get this question right," he grinned, "Then I’m going to give you a kiss!" The whole crowd laughed, expecting his answer to the question to be deliberately incorrect - as if he was just saying it for comic effect. But let‘s face it - he was so hardly ever _right_ , that Angus wondered whether he actually read the newspapers at all. Or perhaps he merely ad-libbed, bluffing his way through the entire show - and, as he expected, hadn‘t laid eyes on one single page of newsprint for years.

Yes, that’s right - he must be _bumbling_ through. What did he, an everyday comedian, know of politics and such? Merton was only in it for the laughs. The audience had always loved his wise cracks and his witty one-liners, but Deayton considered him to be rude, annoying and frequently obnoxious - a prankster, a joker, and a man not be taken seriously under any circumstance - _not_ even in the surround of this light-hearted panel show.

As he hoped the programme hadn’t sank so low as to be a _game_ show just yet, he could honestly see no reason for him being here. This was a serious debate, with humour as a _sideline_. It was far beyond the leagues of The Weakest Link - another question after question of mindless drivel, nine dullards lined at their podiums, with the marvel that was Anne Robinson - the world’s first official octogenarian dominatrix, hired but with no other purpose than to titillate the old, tired and stupid. Or Who Wants To Be A Millionaire - which resorted to offering sums of money which almost rivalled that of the host's ridiculous salary, earned by answering questions on a kindergarten level - all of which to justify its very presence on modern television.

So yet, why did he care so much? Why did it matter? Why was this all spinning round in Deayton's head like a ping-pong ball, hitting the sides? Because - though he deemed Merton to be an ignorant oaf, he was still so undeniably _charming_ in his own way - such a handsome man. During most similar jokes, a wicked glint was visible in Paul’s eyes, accompanied by his humour and dry wit. Except this time, it clearly was not - the younger man's eyes were, instead, _steely_. What was all of this kiss business? Angus found himself so bizarrely curious.

Angus turned his head, a man quite obviously intrigued to hear more. "And if it’s wrong," Paul went on, "Then you’re going to give _me_ a kiss." A smirk lingered as the words left his lips. The host was now forced to suddenly sit up, a mixture of confusion and interest evident from his expression.

"Excuse me?" a sharp intake of air making him cough as he asked. What _ever_ did he mean? As if Angus didn't _know_ \- they'd been playing this game for _years_ . The staleness of the clear liquid in front of him, a glass tumbler placed on the counter, almost caused him to choke - bypassed his oesophagus and drove itself along his windpipe, en-route to his respiratory system - but was that _everything?_ He'd have liked to think that his drink had gone down the wrong hole and, rather, that he hadn’t been so _startled_ by the very notion of locking lips with his fellow star. Damn the cheapness of that complimentary BBC tap water. Now he could see what the glint in Merton's steely eyes represented. It was a glint of desire, a glint of lust even. Paul would never have said something along such similar lines without there being a _meaning_ behind it.

Deayton contemplated the way in which he should answer this, thinking over the many different possibilities in his own mind: on the one hand, what an appealing situation to be in - the position of making love to that gorgeous devil. But _surely_ Paul had to be gay, or at least bi. I mean, just to look at him - flamboyantly dressed in suits that wouldn’t look out of place in Elton John’s wardrobe - or sometimes the kind of jumpers you might expect to see forced upon nine year old boys - the kind who have more knowledge on the subject of toy steam engines, than on members of the opposite sex. Gosh, he was so adorable - from those baby blue eyes, to that floppy hairstyle, which would take each and every available opportunity to droop down onto his forehead, so that he would flick it back every so often, only as to _tease_ Angus.

A pure and simple _show-off_ \- like the kind of woman that would sit at the bar, _luring_ you, covered in cheap jewellery, dressed in a boob tube and a PVC mini-skirt, expecting _you_ to be the one buying the drinks - but in return for _so_ much more - knowing they'd be on their knees in no time. "Oh, hell," he cursed, an inaudible whisper, as he applied the aforementioned to Paul, in his head.

Though the thought of fulfilling Merton's so-called _wishes_ was a particularly tempting one, he knew he had to remain strong. He simply refused to let his emotions get the better of him, especially not on national television. Not on air. (But maybe _later._ ) Not unless he wanted to make the headlines in every major tabloid - be the talk of the red-tops. If he wasn’t too careful, he might end up on the show next week, but this time as a _question topic_ . And, besides, how he could get away with kissing Paul, passionately, in front of a television audience of thousands - he would _never_ know.

With such a threat as _that_ looming over his head - being fired from his high-profile position as host of Have I Got News For You - how could he find himself handling _such_ a scandal? Oh, how ironic _that_ would turn out to be. But for today, he had to plump for the wiser of his two options. "Erm, no," he replied in that sarcastic tone of his, "I _don't_ think so…" He gulped, breathed a sigh of relief, feeling proud of himself. But he _hardly_ meant what he had said. Wincing, he prayed that the cameraman had not picked up on his reaction following the answer to Paul's question.

However, the one man on this studio floor that could do even _more_ damage than those filming the show, _had_ noticed his subsequent reaction - and was now bitterly downhearted. And that man was Paul. Though instead of dwelling on Deayton's refusal and taking it straight to the heart, he did what he always had to and always will - he merely cracked a joke to hide away the disappointment, and was left sitting there with just three words on his lips.

"Why not, Angus?"

 


End file.
